Blood Drops on a White Rose
by TheOneThatGotAway99
Summary: Someone is hunting down ex-convicts, with no regard to the severity of their crimes. Anything from murder to grand theft,all killed on a live web show. FBI Violent Crimes has been trying to stop it without luck. But when sights are set on Neal Caffrey,can Peter and the White Collar team save the young con before it's too late or be forced to watch as he dies with no way to stop it?
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Introduction: What started as just a generic Neal whump story, just to have a bit of fun starting out in a new fandom, has quickly grown into something much more. I blame too much sugar and not enough sleep. This is no longer my first foray, as I have dabbled with writing in this fandom several times this past year, but it still stands that this was my first White Collar story Idea. I'm throwing this chapter out there to test the waters a bit, see how many bites I get, though I do plan on finishing this. I do truly love Neal and his partnership (friendship, bromance, but never slash [nothing against it, but if it isn't in the show, it isn't in my stories]) with Peter . . . and I know not why I feel the need to unjustly torture them both so thoroughly. But, c'est la vie! The show must go on! Hold on to your puppy dog socks, ladies, gentlemen, and cons, 'cause boy are we in for a ride! (10/25/2014)_

_Disclaimer: If these characters belonged to me, they all would run and hide to the farthest reaches of the Earth to escape my sadistic mind. I'm so sorry Neal!_

_Warnings: Graphic descriptions of physical, mental, and emotional torture; not for the weak of stomach or faint of heart. Possible spoilers. Also, I am very prone to leaving cliffhangers. Almost every chapter, really. And long spans of time between chapters. You all have been warned._

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><p>~O~<p>

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><p>Neal Caffrey let loose a scream.<p>

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><p>Peter gripped the edge of the conference table with a white-knuckled grasp as Neal's bloodcurdling screams filled the air again, pouring from the speakers on either side of the monitor hung on the conference room wall.<p>

Despite the lowered volume, the screams still managed to pierce through the room, and out into the bullpen. Pale faces contorted with concern and helpless disgust showed on every agent within earshot of the sound. The clerks were close to tears, flinching with every new shriek of agony.

Peter's gaze burned into the smooth surface of the conference table, he being unable to look at the screen, unable to watch his partner's torment, but unable to let it go on without him.

Diana, who stood beside Peter, kept her eyes averted from the screen as well. She turned to her fellow junior agent. "Jones, turn it off. We—"

"No." Peter's rebuff was punctuated with a fresh scream, making everyone in the room wince. "No, we can't – I can't leave him like that alone. Get Tech to try running a search again. Trace the signal, scour the video; get me _something_ we can use to find him."

Diana opened her mouth as though to reply, looking as though even she wasn't sure what she would say, but Peter cut her off.

"I know he doesn't know we're watching, I realize that. But so long as he's in the hands of that psychotic son of a. . . So long as he's suffering, I won't leave him." He released his hold on the table, scrubbing his hands over his face before standing to his fullest height. Each cry from Neal was like a frigid knife pierced into Peter's heart, but he braced himself against it, knowing that he and his team were the only ones with the ability to find his missing partner before time ran out. He needed a clear head. "As bad as it is, his screaming at least means he's still alive. Let's find a way to keep him that way, people."

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><p>~O~<p>

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><p><strong>Blood Drops On a White Rose<strong>

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><p>Chapter One<p>

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><p>"Peter."<p>

"Neal."

"Not that this isn't fun," Neal said, sarcasm dripping as he flipped the page of the file he was reading. He took his feet off of Peter's desk. "But if I read one more page of this mortgage fraud case tonight, I'm packing up and sending _myself_ back to prison." To emphasize his point, he snapped the file closed.

"Yeah, guess we're not gonna get much more done tonight. You put out a good work effort today, how about I drive you home?"

"Sounds good to me." He flashed an appreciative smile as he stood and held the door open for Peter. They left Peter's office in darkness, making their way down the stairs and onto the bullpen floor. "Let me grab my hat." Neal made a bee-line for his work station, relieving his hat from the Socrates bust taking residence on his desk.

He jogged over to Peter, who was standing by the elevators, checking his pockets for his phone, wallet, and keys. Once they were all accounted for, Peter turned to Neal as they stepped into the elevator. "Maybe tomorrow a more interesting case'll come in."

"It has been a few days since we closed the last big one. Not sure I can take much more mortgage and insurance fraud."

"'Just don't make crimes like they used to, huh?" Peter joked.

Never one to miss an opportunity, Neal bantered back, "Not since I left the game."

"And yet, my job hasn't gotten any easier since then."

Neal flipped his hat gracefully onto his head, smiling up from under the brim being his only response.

A comfortable silence fell upon them as the elevator descended past the ground floor. They made their way through the nearly empty parking garage, into Peter's Taurus and out onto the darkened streets. They chatted amiably about nothing in particular as they neared June's mansion.

Peter parked outside the house, stopping beside the stairs. A gentle rain had started about halfway through their journey, so Peter got as close as he could to the house to try and save Neal's suit from the mild downpour as much as possible.

As Neal reached for the door handle, Peter suddenly turned to him. "Oh, hey, I almost forgot. El's invited you to dinner tomorrow night, if you're not busy. She's got a new batch of h'orderves to try out and wants an 'expert opinion' as she said. Apparently my plain ol' palette isn't advanced enough," he joked with a smirk.

Neal smiled. "Tell her it would be my pleasure. Seven o'clock?"

"Ah-hmm," Peter confirmed.

"Great. I'll bring wine. See you in the morning, Peter." He pushed open the door and stepped out.

"Bye, Neal," his partner called before Neal shut the door and hurried up the stairs to June's.

As Peter's car drove out of sight, Neal stretched his hand towards the door, only to stop as the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He glanced around as the feeling of eyes watching him persisted, but he couldn't see far in the dark and rain.

Making a mental note to inform June to be cautious, he pushed the feeling aside for now. He eased the door open and slipped inside, securely shutting and locking it behind him before heading up the stairs to his apartment.

_To be continued. . ._


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: If these characters belonged to me, they all would run and hide to the farthest reaches of the Earth to escape my sadistic mind. _

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><p>~O~<p>

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><p><strong>Blood Drops On a White Rose<strong>

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><p>Chapter Two<p>

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><p>By the next morning, the strange feeling from the night before was mostly forgotten as Neal stepped off the elevator onto the twenty-first floor. The sudden hustle and bustle around the office after days of little to do but paperwork only served to further push the event from his mind.<p>

Glancing up at the glass wall of the conference room, he spotted Peter, Clinton, and Diana discussing something with Hughes. Agent Ruiz and two other men – agents, most likely, by the way they were dressed – that Neal hadn't met before were also there. The conversation seemed to be rather heated, from what Neal could tell from body language alone. Diana had her arms crossed as she glowered across the table at one of the two men he didn't know; Peter had his hands on his hips in his default stance, frustration obvious in the firm set of his jaw. Despite standing with one hand leaning on the file strewn table, the only hint of weariness shown as Peter tried – and apparently failed – to make his point, Hughes still managed to hold authority over the entire room. Ruiz seemed to be arguing just as hard as Peter was, while the unknown men just stood there as back-up. Jones seemed to be the least effected by the events transpiring before him, though he was also just better at hiding his ire.

As soon as Clinton saw Neal walk into the bullpen, he set off for the conference room door. He opened it and stepped out, beckoning Neal forward. "Caffrey."

Ever one to quench his curiosity, Neal followed Clinton without qualm.

". . . 's obviously a White Collar case," Peter was saying as Neal entered the room.

"Three security guards were killed, brutally. It's Violent Crimes', Burke," was Ruiz's reply. Neal had been right about a disagreement going on between them, apparently about jurisdiction of a particular case.

"Isn't the VC unit already working a mid-profile case?" Diana shot back. "The Webcam Killer. How's that going for you?"

_Webcam Killer?_ Neal thought. He didn't recognize that name. He would have to remember to ask about that one later.

Ruiz ignored Diana's sardonic second question and instead focused on dismissing the first. "My team can handle more than one case at a time. Come on Hughes, this conversation is pointless. You know as well as I do whose case this should be."

"You both make a valid point," Hughes replied, seeming to be on the edge of frustration. "But the higher-ups are insisting on encouraging inter-departmental relations. They want both teams working together on this case. And I do stress _together_. I don't want this becoming some kind of pissing contest. Are we clear?"

A silent moment passed, filled with grumbling that was mostly implied, rather than voiced, before Peter and Ruiz both – begrudgingly and reluctantly – agreed to the terms. Reece dismissed them, then headed off to his office.

Taking his chance, Neal moved to stand beside Peter. "So, what's the case?" he asked, breaking the silence. He instantly had the room's attention.

"A robbery at The Metropolitan Museum of Art," was Peter's distracted reply. He seemed to be deep in thought and – dare Neal think it – pouting, just a little bit, though Neal was sure that he was the only one to notice that. "Four guards were stabbed repeatedly, three died at the scene, the other remains in critical condition."

"What was stolen?" he asked solemnly, ignoring the looks he was getting from the two Violent Crimes agents he didn't know. He reached out to pick up one of the folders lying on the conference room table.

"Tullio Lombardo's _Adam_."

Neal nearly choked in his shock, but the only outward sign of his surprise was a few second pause in his breathing. "As in the fifteenth century venetian marble statue that was accidentally smashed into _hundreds_ of pieces back in 2002, then underwent a twelve year restoration period before finally being redisplayed in the Met indefinitely starting four months ago. That _Adam_?"

"That's the one." Peter raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment. Everyone in the White Collar division was used to Neal's encyclopedic knowledge of the art world.

"Wow. I'd be impressed if whoever it was didn't have to kill to get it."

One of the Violent Crimes agents scoffed scornfully, making Neal to frown slightly in bemusement. He wasn't sure what had caused that reaction to his words, but he didn't bother asking, as the sound seemed to break Peter of his revere and remind him of the other parties in the room with him.

"Oh, Neal, I don't know if you've met them yet or not. This is Special Agents Hendricks and Abbot of the Violent Crimes Unit," Peter introduced, indicating each to their name.

Hendricks had short blonde hair, cut in a close crew, slightly tanned skin, and a very prominent jaw line; and the angle of his brow bone gave the impression that he was always angry. An ex-military man, Neal figured, judging by his stance and posture. Marine, maybe. Abbot's jet black hair was slightly longer and skin paler, like he usually spent too much time indoors. His blue-green eyes held a sharply calculating gaze. Both men wore cheap suits – something Mozzie had declared as the standardized dress code of all FBI "goons" – and looked to be in their mid to late thirties to early forties. Hendricks' suit was neat, a faded black set with a ghastly green tie, but nothing compared to Abbot's meticulously straight light grey suit and deep blue tie.

Neal kept his observations from his expression with the ease of many years of practice, offering his most charming smile and a hand to shake. "Pleasure to meet you."

Abbot wordlessly blew him off, glancing away disinterestedly, but Hendricks stepped forward and took his hand. An obviously fake half-smile crossed the agent's face as he seemed to try and crush Neal's hand, arching his shoulders and puffing out his chest in an unconscious show of dominance and intimidation. _Or maybe not so unconscious_, Neal thought to himself.

"So you're the infamous Neal Caffrey. Hm, you're smaller than I thought you'd be," Hendricks said, by way of greeting, releasing Neal's hand, but not stepping back.

Neal blinked, not sure how to reply to that. His first instinct was to make a clever remark about how being smaller made it easier to squeeze out of tight places, but he held his tongue, figuring Hendricks for a man who didn't appreciate sarcasm unless voiced by himself alone. Neal's smile never faltered – he was all about first impressions – and a second later, Hendricks continued anyway.

"So how does it feel working _for_ the law you used to make a career of breaking?" This man had obviously already decided he didn't like Neal, but Neal was determined to try and change his opinion. Neal allowed his charming smile to morph into an earnest expression.

Snide question, meet honest answer. "It has its benefits. The rewards are a lot less monetary and materialistic, but I get to help people instead of hurt them. Plus, I get the privilege to work with one of the best agents the bureau's ever had." Neal said the last part with the smallest of playful grins, inclining his head in Peter's direction. He caught the corner of Peter's mouth twitching upwards in his peripheral vision, before his partner pursed his lips to keep from smiling. Hendricks, however, looked stumped by Neal's reply.

Before anyone could respond, though, Ruiz cleared his throat to get their attention. "Don't you two have work to do?" he asked his men, and a second later they both marched out of the room without another word. Ruiz soon followed after.

"Nice to meet you, too," Neal mumbled once they were out of earshot.

Peter smirked, clapping the younger man on the back. "Don't feel too bad, Neal. That actually went better than I had expected." When Neal quirked a questioning eyebrow, Peter elaborated. "Hendricks and Abbot have both been rather loud in their protests against ex-convicts being taken on as consultants."

"You never know, maybe I can change their minds about it," he replied, remembering Agent Hendricks' reaction to Neal's comment.

"If you manage to change either of their minds by the time we finish this case, I'll buy you lunch every day for a week."

_Challenge accepted_, Neal thought, seeing what Peter was doing. "I'll take that deal." While the bet may have been offered in jest, the reasons behind it ran much deeper. It gave Neal a new problem to work out along with the case, keeping Neal happily occupied, while also, hopefully, broadening the views of FBI agents that might otherwise remain blinded by their own misconceptions.

Changing the subject back the case at hand, Neal said, "So, White Collar and Violent Crimes working together. . ."

"Yup."

"It's going to turn into a race for the finish line, isn't it?"

"Oh yes."

Neal grinned, straightening his tie. "Well then, let's get to work."

_To be continued. . ._

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><p><em>Author's Note: 1122/2014 Wow, I got this done a whole two days sooner than I thought I would. Well, I am going to try (emphasis on 'try' here, people) to post once a month, but I have about a bazillion other stories I need to update that I am ignoring while I work on this one instead. (Poor planning on my part, but I blame my muse with a short attention span.) I hope you all aren't disappointed that my 'generic Neal whump' story has evolved into an actual plot-line/case-fic. I will attempt to make it as entertaining as possible until the whump arrives ;D Lastly, I am floored by how many followers this story already has from just one little chapter. Fifty-six in only twenty-eight days! Wow! Until next time! Love you all! Take care! God bless!_

_-TheOneThatGotAway99_


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